


A Clean Break

by Smileymask



Series: Hanahaki [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Hanahaki Disease, Love Triangles, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25531060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smileymask/pseuds/Smileymask
Summary: Killer contracts Hanahaki disease, and ponders his identity without Eustass Kid.Set during the timeskip.
Relationships: Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante/Trafalgar D. Water Law, Eustass Kid & Killer, Eustass Kid/Killer, Eustass Kid/Trafalgar D. Water Law, Killer & Trafalgar D. Water Law, Killer/Trafalgar D. Water Law
Series: Hanahaki [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853155
Comments: 15
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: love triangle; none of the pairings end up together.
> 
> Hanahaki disease will be explained in the fic itself, but it might be helpful to look up the trope if you’re unfamiliar with it.
> 
> Assumes that the Kid Pirates don’t have dedicated medical personnel.

“Mr. Barton Francis?” Called the receptionist. “The doctor will see you in Office 2.”

Killer was at his appointment at the University Hospital. He’d taken a detour alone to visit a large island, around twice the size of Dressrosa, because the small clinics that they could find on the Kid Pirates’ itinerary had all been baffled by his symptoms.

Killer went into the outpatient office.

The specialist greeted him politely. “Good morning, Mr. Barton. What seems to be the problem?”

“I’ve been having coughing fits,” began Killer.

“When did it first start?”

“I’m not sure, around a year ago, I think.”

“I see. So by coughing fits you would say it doesn’t occur continuously throughout the day?”

“No, it comes in bursts, usually when I’m feeling upset.”

“Has the cough been getting worse over the last few months?”

“Yes, it’s been getting more frequent and it’s getting hard to control lately.”

“Do you have any chest pains?”

“Recently. I feel a pulling sensation when I breathe in deeply.”

“Any fevers or chills?”

“None.”

“Is there any phlegm when you cough?”

Killer took out the plastic bag that he’d brought, that contained some of the petals that came out his airways when he coughed.

“Not phlegm,” Killer said, “but these come out of my airways when I cough. They’re usually wadded together, but I separated them so you could take a look.”

The doctor examined the plastic bag. “These seem to be petals?”

“As far as I can tell, yes.”

“I see.” Said the doctor. “Do you have any changes in mood?”

“No.”

“Changes in appetite or weight?”

“None.”

“Do you notice lowered energy levels?”

“No.”

“Changes in your sleeping patterns?”

“None.”

The doctor nodded gravely. “I don’t see cause for worry,” he said carefully. “You appear to be in good physical condition; and you don’t seem to be in poor spirits, either.”

“Yes, doctor, but what about the coughs and the petals?”

“I expect that you might have visited with a diagnosis in mind. But the existence of Hanahaki disease is in dispute,” said the doctor, not unkindly. “And it is not healthy to seek attention through such avenues.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think this is a medical problem - I will refer you to another specialist. I will write you a note, and they will make an appointment for you at Reception.”

He wrote a referral note, and dismissed Killer politely. 

Killer went out to the lobby and looked up the staff listings to find the specialist he’d been referred to.

Dr. Muller Leonard - Psychiatry.

* * *

Killer finally had a name for his ailment - Hanahaki disease. Killer didn’t book the Psychiatry appointment after all, but took a cab to the Central Library and searched through the medical section. He found the term commonly listed in Psychiatry texts - there it was, listed under factitious disorders.

_Popular complaint of patients with factitious disorders, suggests marked erotomanic motivations._

Case reports included a patient who had asphyxiated to death after stuffing rose petals down her own trachea. Autopsy had revealed no lesions in her lungs.

A patient who had been force-feeding petals to his legal dependent niece and making her regurgitate them, and claiming that his love would fix it. _A bizarre presentation,_ the case report commented, _of Munchausen syndrome by proxy._

Killer discovered that Hanahaki disease had become something of a fad in the last 20 years or so. It had apparently become a favorite illness claimed by hypochondriacs and cases of Munchausen syndrome around the world. There were, Killer discovered, support groups and mailing lists dedicated to people purportedly suffering from the ailment.

It was profoundly insulting that Killer would be lumped into the company of all these people who had no idea what it was really like; just wanted to claim the experience for themselves. Killer would laugh at their ridiculous delusions, but by now he was beyond being surprised by the insanity that people were capable of.

Killer wondered if he, too, wasn't really going mad. If this wasn't indeed some factitious disorder, all made up by his mind in a desperate plea for attention. If this wasn't some erotomanic delusion in the end. If some split personality wasn't shoving petals down his own throat while his conscious self was asleep.

* * *

Killer was good at researching obscure subjects. He decided to stay in the city for the next couple of days to get to the bottom of this Hanahaki business. He hunted down outdated medical texts and journals, from decades ago. 

Before it had been overrun by self-reported cases, the disorder had been considered a real, though exceedingly rare, disease. The coughing and the petals were caused by plant tissue growing in the lungs. All confirmed patients suffered from unrequited love, and when the love was returned, the plant tissue would regress and the patients would recover. If the love was not returned, the plant tissue would take over the lungs and heart and would become fatal. Surgery was curative, but only if all of the plant tissue was removed with not even a small particle remaining. Any and all feelings that the patient held for the object of affection would be removed as well, and never return.

It was a very puzzling disorder. It was variously theorized to be a type of tumor; or a vegetation originating from some kind of inhaled spore; or dismissed as cases of foreign body ingestion by people with mental disorders.

Pathology only yielded tissues of the plant itself, not giving any clues as to how the foreign tissue got there. It was a mystery how the foreign tissue was not immediately rejected by the body, as vegetable foreign bodies usually caused severe immune reactions.

Ordinarily Killer would have found all this mildly interesting at best, as he had little interest in medicine in the first place. But this was, he now realized, a matter of life and death.

* * *

Killer knew that he really wasn’t delusional.

Killer knew whom the plant tissue in his chest grew for.

He hadn’t been sure what kind of petals they were before now. But now that he had found out that the flowers were caused by some kind of unrequited love, he realized that they were tulip petals. It made sense; he’d always associated Kid with tulips.

He remembered the exact day that the petals had first appeared. At that point the coughs had been going on for a few months, mild enough to not be much of a concern for him.

Kid had had a run-in with Trafalgar Law in the New World three months ago. Killer hadn’t thought much of it, until he began to notice Kid hiding in his room for hours on end. All the walls in Killer’s room were soundproofed because of his drumming hobby, so he didn’t notice at first, but when he stood outside of Kid’s door one night he realized that Kid was talking to someone over den-den mushi.

Killer had barged into the room, demanded to know who Kid was talking to.

Kid hung up immediately. “You’re not my goddamn mother,” Kid had growled defensively. And then immediately backpedaled. “Shit, that was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“No, I was out of line, I shouldn’t be interfering in your private life,” said Killer, and excused himself from the Captain’s quarters.

He started coughing, hard and uncontrollable, when he went out to the deck. A wet mass came up his throat like phlegm, and it tasted almost like vegetables. He lifted the mask and spat it out into his hand, a mass of stark crimson.

“That looks bad, Killer-san,” said Wire, who had been watching his coughing with some worry.

“Yeah,” Killer said. “This definitely isn’t blood, though.”

He separated the mass carefully. It resolved into a thin film, a crimson teardrop-shape with a black spot on the pointy end. He and Wire had puzzled over it for a while, to no conclusion.

Kid later came to him and told him upfront what was going on.

“I’m dating Trafalgar Law,” Kid told him bluntly, with the air of one pulling off a band-aid.

“Trafalgar Law? Are you insane?”

“I knew you’d react that way, so that’s why I didn’t tell you before now.”

Killer understood how Kid might be attracted to Trafalgar. Oh, he could see the appeal, all right.

The man flaunted an air of tragedy, a seductive mystery hanging in his mocking eyes, just begging to be explored.

Consummate proficiency in all his skills; Killer had seen him wield his abilities back at Sabaody, and his reputation as a surgeon was beyond respectable.

Lithe, wiry figure, much like Killer himself before he'd decided to gain more muscle mass.

  
  
  


But Trafalgar was their enemy, and a psychopath to boot. Kid, whatever names people may rightly call him, at least had an element of passion to his crimes. But it was all clinical detachment, all sadistic joy, from Trafalgar. The reports of the Rocky Port incident had managed to appall even Killer, who had a high tolerance for violence to say the least. The Rocky Port incident had had the opposite effect on Kid instead; he’d been impressed at Trafalgar’s methods. Maybe that had been the spark that had ignited this unlikely attraction. 

Killer knew that there was nothing that Kid would gain from this dalliance with Trafalgar. And he was sure Kid knew it too, deep down. 

The most shocking thing about this was the fact that someone had managed to turn Kid’s eye away from the One Piece, even for a moment. Kid never made any decisions that would interfere in any way with finding the One Piece. But he’d chosen Trafalgar, who was nothing but a blatant obstacle. It filled Killer with a deep, ugly jealousy that Trafalgar had been the one to catch Kid’s heart so completely.

Maybe the difference between them was that Killer belonged to Kid and had belonged to him all along; Trafalgar, Killer supposed, was his own man.

* * *

Killer had never wanted to confront this love he felt.

Only now that he was pressed at gunpoint, at the threat of death, would he admit it: Killer was in love with Eustass Kid.

Every part of his love was tainted with searing shame; he could never justify his feelings to anyone, or more importantly, himself.

Kid was not merely his partner, his Captain, his best friend. Kid was like a younger brother to him. His own attraction disgusted him at the same time as it consumed him. He disgusted himself; but since when had that not been the case? His face, his laugh, his past, they all plagued him. And now even the one guiding star of his life, its one constant, was tainted with his own perversion.

For he desired to taste the dark lips that curved in triumphant laughter.

He longed to run his hands through the wild scarlet hair.

To trace with his fingers the pale, sturdy flesh of his chest.  
  


The fact that Kid was tainted this way meant that Killer's very self was tainted, as well. 

Kid had given him a purpose and an identity, that day they had saved each other from a life of slavery.

In the days after they first met, Killer had found out that the kid was, for all the horrendous power and callousness he had shown at their first meeting, a normal boy beneath all that. He wanted comfort and affection, and providing that to the child became Killer’s purpose. 

He had taught the kid how to read and write; he had cooked meals for the two of them; he had told him bedtime stories. 

Eustass, the kid had taken to spelling his name, and Killer didn't correct him; it was good enough in his opinion.

They called each other - kid, and killer, and they soon ceased to be temporary designations but solidified into names, as the weight of history and association imbued the common nouns with meaning beyond the words themselves.

* * *

When Killer got back to the Victoria Punk after his research, he wasn’t sure what he should do with the new information he’d gained. His path forward boiled down to three possibilities:

Kid could love him back, and he’d be cured; he could get surgery for it, and he would live, albeit in a kind of half-existence; or he could let things be and die.

It was a ridiculous situation. What was he, the Little Mermaid? 

To think of it, yes, he was exactly like the Little Mermaid. 

She’d turned to foam in the end. He was aware that he could very well die from this too. Who knew if any hospital was going to take him seriously?

He didn't relish the thought of the crewmen, or worse, Kid, going through his personal effects in the case of his expiration.

While the Victoria Punk was docked at a small island, Killer took a morning to sort through his belongings. 

He’d always thought of himself as a minimalist of sorts, but when he upended all his stuff in his room, he found he had accumulated a lot of clutter over the years.

***

First, the books and papers - a jumble of topics, ranging from history books to newspaper clippings to encyclopedias to his recent medical texts to Killer's old favorite books of myths and legends to all Killer’s notes of the research he’d done for the One Piece.

He decided to throw out most of the history books and newspaper clippings not relevant to the One Piece. The medical texts could go as well, since Killer knew what his ailment was now.

He would sort through the notes later, and make an abridged version so that Heat or Wire could take over the research if necessary.

As for the personal books - Killer found he could not part with them. With great nostalgia he opened a Devil Fruit encyclopedia that Kid and Killer had bought once they had enough money and had sailed out to an island with an actual bookstore. Something fluttered out from the pages and he knew what it was even before he picked it up.

A pressed snowdrop, the only gesture that Kid had given him that could remotely be interpreted as romantic.

It had been a good day on the Grand Line. It had been a spring island, the climate much like the island they’d come from in South Blue. 

They had been relaxing on the island for a few days as the Log Pose set. They’d taken an idle walk through the forest together. Kid’s eyes had widened as he reached down to pick something from the underbrush.

“Snowdrops,” Kid said, showing him the flower with a smile. “Didn’t know they grew in the Grand Line.”

He pressed it into Killer’s hand. “These always reminded me of you.”

In the shithole island they came from, the snowdrops would bloom in the forest near their scrap island in the winter, and a few weeks later the tulips would bloom in the residential neighborhoods. Killer had never thought that Kid had noticed them at all. 

Maybe that was the day Killer’s heart had quickened for Kid. Killer had kept the flower, he’d tucked it into the Devil Fruit encyclopedia, kept it pressed there, like he did his love.

  
  


***

His cooking ingredients and utensils. Killer considered himself something of a home chef, and he enjoyed playing around with spices and exotic ingredients when he had the time as well as perfecting his favorite pasta recipes.

He hadn’t started it for fun, however. When Kid and Killer first met, Kid had been too young to cook for himself, and the job fell to Killer.

Kid's favorite food, cabbage rolls, had been a way for Killer to pad out the meat that they couldn't get enough of on their pitiful earnings. Kid had enjoyed that a lot more than Killer expected, though. Killer remembered that he'd been so glad that day.

Killer threw out all the spices that had expired, and moved the rest of them to the communal area of the kitchen. He would get rid of the fancier baking pans and air fryers and yogurt makers as well.

***

His masks.

The mask had been the result of years of self-reflection, a lifelong struggle to make sense of the senseless cruelty he had endured as a child. 

His laugh evoked a visceral shame inside him that would probably never go away. When he was young he'd lashed out so hard at people who mocked his laugh, and he'd gotten Kid and himself into too many dangerous situations because of that. Kid had developed the habit of lashing out defensively, too, on Killer's behalf.

He had decided that he needed to stop for both their sake. The mask was a reminder that he did not need to laugh, that he could control it if he wanted, that he was more than his trauma.

***

His weapons.

Kid and Killer had never been much for exchanging gifts, but Killer carried one of Kid’s creations with him all the time. In fact, it was the very tool of his livelihood. Killer's scythes and handguards were Kid's design and handiwork. Kid had devised it in the days when his grasp of his Devil Fruit powers was yet shaky and he would keep snatching Killer’s weapons away from his hands. 

That was the story of how his weapons came to be. But the weapons begged the question - did Killer enjoy the act of killing?

He had enjoyed it, his very first act of murder. But that moment of enjoyment had brought him many years of guilt and torment afterwards.

He would like to say he killed only for necessity, now. 

As necessary as one could call it, trampling over people in the pursuit of his partner's dream. But one must not enjoy killing. Killing must have a purpose.

If his life hadn't turned out this way, Killer thought he might not have chosen to make his living by killing others. But that was merely the road not taken.

***

His drum kits and sheet music were probably the one thing that had nothing to do with Kid. Kid had been very supportive of his venture, of course, urging him to get a fancy drum kit and sitting in his room at times to listen to his playing. But this was something he could call his own.

He decided to keep the drums.

***

There were surprisingly few physical mementos relating to Kid directly. They'd taken no photographs, exchanged no gifts or letters. 

Even so, Killer realized, most everything about his life had been in some way influenced by Kid; his goals, his hobbies, his livelihood, even his fighting style.

Killer piled all the books and assorted items into a cart and took them out to sell or discard them. 

He passed Kid as he was wheeling it out of the ship. Kid grabbed his arm suddenly and looked at him, hard and accusing.

“You taking all your stuff out for a joy ride?” 

Killer hummed noncommittally. “Getting a bit cluttered in my room.” 

Kid still stared at him with worry, but he did not seem to be able to voice the suspicions brewing in his head. "Fine," he said, and released Killer's arm.

* * *

The Victoria Punk would be passing another large city soon, so Killer made an appointment at the University Hospital there and took a boat there alone.

Kid had wanted to go to the hospital with him, but Killer refused, as he did not want Kid to find out the diagnosis in case the hospital did get it correct. 

Killer tied his hair back into a bun, put on sunglasses and dressed in a plain button-up and slacks. He took a pair of daggers in concealed carry instead of his usual weapons.

His real face was his disguise when he went incognito, just as his real name was his alias. He’d thrown away his face when he was nineteen and he’d thrown away his name when he was eleven, and neither of them had much to do with Massacre Soldier Killer anymore. 

He fancied that he looked fairly anonymous, maybe like a salesman or some security guard, in his current getup. He was aware that he had an attractive face - passersby glanced at him appreciatively as he passed - but that had never brought him much joy in his life.

He checked into the hotel, and went out to a bar in the evening for a drink. A woman sat next to him to talk to him and they went to bed together at her apartment.

He had a few cigarettes with the woman afterwards, exchanging some idle pillow talk. 

The woman was good company, with a dry sense of humor Killer appreciated. For a while he let himself construct a possibility in his mind. Start something with this woman, maybe, and take back his old face and name, and have an anonymous life in this city. He could easily find work as some hired muscle.

But in the end, without Kid, it all seemed so lifeless and meaningless.

Killer made his farewells and stepped out into the early morning. 

* * *

The weight of his decision finally hit him on his tram ride to the hospital.

Killer stood facing the window and let the tears flow silently down his face. The other passengers paid him no mind. He dabbed at his nose with a napkin, and he looked merely like he had a case of hay fever.

He let himself remember the old memories of warmth and connection, all the moments of shining happiness that he'd had with Kid.

Kid, as a child, stuffing his face with the cabbage rolls Killer had made for him.

Practicing backflips on the scrap island, and Kid whooping at a particularly well-executed move.

Traversing past Reverse Mountain in their first ship, embracing in giddy exhilaration and relief that they’d made it in one piece.

The first night in the Victoria Punk, when they’d christened the ship and had an all-night feast with the crew and the two of them had stood at the figurehead afterwards looking at the stars together.

That wonderful way Kid had of throwing an arm around him so casually and naturally during their feasts, laughing openly and freely.

Kid’s eyes, so gold as they smiled up at him, _these always reminded me of you._

All these memories would be rendered colorless now, devoid of meaning. In that case, Killer wondered what point there was in clinging onto life.

But everyone went through life alone in the end, whether they realized it or not. Killer had just lost sight of this fundamental truth.

What folly it was to pin all one's hopes and happiness on one man. And it was all his fault; there was no one else to blame, no one else who should shoulder the consequences for him. Killer had always believed that a man should pay the price for his own ignorance; now he would put his money where his mouth was.

* * *

He went into the appointment, and this time he didn’t mention the petals.

His goal was to get the mass removed; whether they diagnosed him correctly or not was inconsequential.

He got an X-ray, and even to Killer’s untrained eyes there seemed something wrong. Fuzzy white round shapes were clustered in the lower part of the lungs.

“This is quite a puzzling pattern; these appear to be calcifications," said the specialist. “We’ll need some further testing.”

Killer stayed on the island for several days, going through a battery of tests - blood work, CT scans, biopsies, lung function tests, PET scans, sputum tests, bronchoalveolar lavage.

The specialist’s face was very grave as she told Killer his diagnosis.

“It appears to be a very rare disorder, almost unheard of, called Hanahaki disease.”

She pointed out the fuzzy round shapes on the X-ray with a pointer.

“These masses are flower bulbs. They are spread out over both lungs - the left upper lobe, left lower lobe, right middle lobe, and right lower lobe - and some masses are located very close to the right pulmonary artery.”

She brought out the CT on the monitor and pointed out the artery as well as the mass.

“To cure this, it’s essential that all of the plant tissue be removed; if any is left, it will keep growing into the surrounding tissue, and will eventually be fatal. Unfortunately, it seems as though it will be impossible to make a complete resection. The masses are so widespread that there are concerns about remaining lung volume, as well as the encroachment on the right pulmonary artery.

“I understand this may sound very strange, but do you currently have romantic feelings for someone that you feel is not returned?”

Killer nodded.

“It’s not yet clear how, but the plant tissue is known to be connected to those feelings of unreturned love. The masses will disappear on their own if your feelings are reciprocated. I think our best option is for you to confess your feelings to this person, or in any way you deem best find a way to have your feelings returned.

“If that is not successful, then we can attempt a debulking surgery; though I am not optimistic that would improve your quality of life significantly.

“Do you have any questions so far?” The doctor asked gently.

Killer shook his head.

“I am deeply regretful to share this news, Mr. Barton. Please don’t hesitate to contact us if you have any other concerns or questions.”

* * *

This was a possibility Killer had not considered. The news had blindsided him.

He felt totally numb. He lay in his hotel room, forgoing lunch and dinner, and did nothing.

When his thoughts finally returned to him, Killer found he didn’t really care much whether or not he lived. It had never mattered to him much even before the Hanahaki business.

The problem was, as always, Kid - how to break the news?

He knew that Kid did love him, if only in the familial sense; Kid would be devastated when he found out that Killer would pass.

It turned out to be a good thing, after all, that Kid had Trafalgar. Hopefully Trafalgar would be responsible enough to be some comfort to Kid after his death.

_Trafalgar._

Trafalgar had one of the most valuable Devil Fruit powers ever discovered.

If anyone could help Killer, it was Trafalgar.

He would be, literally and figuratively, the last person Killer would ask for help on this subject.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It was easy enough to find where the Polar Tang was. The Victoria Punk and the Polar Tang had been in each other’s orbits, not too close and not too far, ever since the two Captains had started their relationship.

Killer left his weapons in his boat and approached the Heart Pirates unarmed.

Trafalgar’s subordinates, the bear mink and the two with the hats, came out to the deck and regarded him with clear suspicion.

“I come in peace,” said Killer wryly. “I’m only looking for medical advice, if you’d believe me.”

They took him to the infirmary, and Trafalgar came in shortly after.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your acquaintance, Killer-ya?” Trafalgar questioned, deadpan. “Somehow I don’t believe that you only came for medical advice.”

“I’ll have to disappoint you,” replied Killer. He tossed the folder of test results and diagnosis report on the table. “I was diagnosed with Hanahaki disease, and the hospital I went to told me it was unresectable. I was hoping that your abilities might help me.”

Trafalgar flipped through the folder. He nodded impassively. “Sounds like they got it right; I’m impressed.”

“I was surprised too, apparently it’s considered a mental disease now.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s unreasonable that they classify it that way,” said Trafalgar. “The vast majority of self-reported cases are fabricated. It did make it difficult, of course, for real patients of the disease.”

“So what do you think? Do you think you can treat this?”

“I can see a possibility if I use my abilities. I’ll need to do further examinations, though.”  
  
  


Killer had to take off his mask for the examinations. When Trafalgar saw Killer’s face he froze and his face went pale, like he’d seen a ghost. It made Killer a little uncomfortable, until Trafalgar snapped out of it and carried on with his work.

For the last procedure, Trafalgar surrounded Killer in his ability, a forcefield of blue light. “Scan,” he called, and Trafalgar seemed to see something in Killer’s chest that was invisible to anyone else. He eyed it critically for a while from all angles, taking notes, and then nodded in satisfaction.  
  


They sat down again to discuss the results of the examination.

“So - treatment options.” Trafalgar began.

“One option is to kill the object of your affections,” Trafalgar remarked sardonically. “Hanahaki has been known to go into remission once the object of affection is dead.”

“God damn it,” Killer said. “That's not funny.”

“Just pointing out all the available options,” Trafalgar said. “Speaking of which; I can’t help but wonder if the object of your affections would put me at a conflict of interest.”

And here Killer had been hoping that Trafalgar would not pry.

“You nailed it,” said Killer. “Will that be a problem?”

“I am very uncomfortable with this situation, I will admit.” Trafalgar said. “It was never my intention to be-- some kind of home-wrecker. The best option by far is to let the mass regress naturally; It would be remiss of me if I didn’t urge you to tell Eustass how you feel.”

Killer was silent. Not this pointless drivel again.

“I’m not claiming to know Eustass better than you, Killer-ya. But I’ve seen enough of him to know that Eustass would prioritize you over everything else. If I were in Eustass' position, I would do anything to keep you.”

“Well, I’m doing this so he can keep me,” said Killer.

“Things will change between the two of you after surgery. The thing is, Eustass doesn't know what he's going to lose. You wouldn’t even give him the choice? Don't be so cruel to him.”

Killer wondered at the strangely emotional tone coming from the doctor; almost beseeching, if it wasn't laughable to even think of attaching such a descriptor to Trafalgar Law.

Did he care about Kid that much? If he did, why was he so nonchalant about the idea of Kid falling into Killer’s arms? Or was he talking of something else entirely?

“Why are you so hell-bent on setting me up with your own boyfriend?” Killer demanded. “Isn’t that fucking disrespectful to Kid?”

“I really do not feel that I should be a priority in this situation. I wasn’t aware that the relationship between you two was as close as it is.”

“It's not like that,” Killer told him. “Kid’s like a little brother to me. It’s disgusting, it’s wrong to have such feelings, and I’d really rather not have them anymore. You'd understand if you had a sibling of your own.”

Trafalgar's expression turned flinty. “But I remind you that you are not siblings. Maybe that distinction exists only in your own head.”

Killer was too tired to argue with Trafalgar over something he knew was futile. As if he hadn’t had this exact same argument a thousand times before in his own head.

“I don’t care,” Killer exploded. “I won’t tell him because telling him won’t change anything! What will that accomplish? I know he doesn’t love me that way. He’s got no obligation to love me. And I accept that!

“And I don't want his love if I have to guilt him into loving me! That’s just sick, that’s manipulative! I’m not going to saddle him with guilt over something he’s not capable of fixing.

“Don’t tell him about this, Trafalgar, don’t you dare! I do not give consent for that.”

He was so angry that he hadn’t realized he’d been shoving his finger at Trafalgar’s face. Trafalgar took it all with clinical detachment, tempered, perhaps, by a hint of compassion. 

“I see. I still stand by the opinion that it’s better to tell him; but I will abide by your decision. The soonest I can perform the operation is in three days - I need to plan out the procedure and sterilize the equipment.”

Trafalgar handed Killer a den-den. “Contact me if something changes. Otherwise, I will see you in three days; I will remain docked on this island for that period.” 

It was profoundly relieving to be diagnosed and to have a plan of treatment.

It was good to be understood.

For that, Killer was deeply grateful to Trafalgar, whatever role he might have played in this situation.

* * *

When Killer came back to the Victoria Punk, he was surprised to find Kid wallowing in misery.

“He broke up with me,” Kid told him. “I guess you’d be happy about that,” Kid said, half-jokingly.

“I’m sorry,” Killer could only say.

“No, you were right. It wasn’t gonna work anyway. Get this - Trafalgar’s gonna be a Warlord, can you fucking believe that? A goddamn government dog?” Kid laughed humorlessly. “I thought the guy had some fucking standards.”

Killer nodded dumbly. Kid stared into the table, brooding, for a long moment.

“Still hurts though,” said Kid, softly.

“I get it,” said Killer. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

The news filled him with a great deal of guilt. He called Trafalgar immediately, in a rage.

“You broke up with him? Why in the world did you do that? Fuck, is it because of me?”

“As touching as your concern is, Killer-ya, it’s egocentric of you to think this decision was for your benefit.” Trafalgar said.

“It’s true that I have no interest in disrupting other people’s relationships. But the affair between Eustass and I has reached its natural conclusion: I have been offered the Warlord position, and it will be impossible for me to further associate with him without breaking the terms of my contract.”

“I heard that much from Kid.”

“Yes, he had some choice words to say about that. I must say I find his moral stance rather puzzling; he didn’t bat an eye at the 100 hearts I collected, but the Warlord position is what he takes moral offense to?

“Anyway, I urge you again to tell him how you feel. The preparations are mostly done, so in the worst case we can proceed with the operation as planned. But it is always better to treat things conservatively.”

* * *

Killer went to keep Kid company while he drank in the Captain’s quarters.

Trafalgar’s advice was on his mind. As well as the one unresolved question that even to this day could not be purged from his heart. What if, what if, there was the slightest chance that Kid could love him back?

Killer put his hand on Kid’s shoulder. Kid’s bleary eyes turned to look up at Killer.

Killer steeled himself and leaned in to press his lips to Kid’s.

Kid’s lips fell open, and Killer could taste the whiskey on Kid’s breath. The smell of the washroom soap and a scent of rust flooded his nose, Kid’s lipstick waxy on the tip of Killer’s tongue.

Killer pulled back with a soft wet sound. Kid was staring at him. For one heart-soaring moment Killer believed that his kiss might have been welcomed.

But he realized that the open-mouthed expression was not wonder but befuddlement.

“Killer, I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but this is really not the time.” Kid said carefully.

Killer felt that the world was ending. He really couldn’t stomach being in Kid’s presence any longer, the shame was so great.

But he managed to force out a reply. “Thought it might take your mind off things. Sorry about that.”

The coughing fit struck immediately after he finished the sentence, worse than ever before, causing him to double up in a crouching position.

After it passed Killer swallowed down the mass of petals that flooded his mouth, tasting blood as well as vegetables, and struggled to regain his breath.

He could blame the tears that stung his eyes on the cough. Kid was crouched beside him, hand hovering at Killer’s shoulder hesitantly.

“Have you really been getting that checked out?” Kid asked, face worried and disturbed.

“Yeah, you know I’ve been serious about getting this fixed.”

“I don’t know, man. You haven’t been telling me anything about what’s going on, you never even let me go to the appointments with you.

“You've been acting so fucking weird these days. It feels almost--” Kid's face crumpled and tears started leaking from his eyes. “Almost like you're preparing to die,” he grit out.

“Tell me it's not cancer. Be honest with me. Is it cancer?”

“No, it's not malignant, just a tumor. Doctor said it’s probably gonna be curable. I have surgery scheduled to get it removed, so I'll be leaving tomorrow.”

Kid looked dumbfounded. “You have surgery scheduled? Already?”

“Yeah, the doctor had an opening.”

Kid looked like he had a lot to say about this, but collected himself. “Please just let me go with you tomorrow.”

“I'd really rather go myself,” Killer said. “I'll be in and out in a few days. The doctor is known to be good. I'll give you a call on the den-den once I'm in the clear.”

Killer took the boat and set sail that night, right after their conversation. He knew that Kid would force his way into going with him if he left tomorrow morning.

* * *

The Heart Pirates let him aboard the Polar Tang without question, and Trafalgar saw him in the infirmary.

“Looks like I’ll need surgery after all,” Killer told him.

“You told him?”

“Did my best.”

“I see,” said Trafalgar. He seemed to understand that it wasn’t his place to offer words of sympathy.

Trafalgar explained the procedure to him. “I will be removing the plant tissue with my abilities, so it will spare more of your lung tissue than a traditional resection. I’m almost certain that you’ll have enough lung volume afterwards that it will not interfere with your daily activities.

“The mass hasn’t infiltrated the walls of your pulmonary artery, so my abilities will remove that safely as well. 

“We will still need to make incisions in your chest, so that I can monitor for bleeding or other complications. I think we can make do with a thoracoscopy, though we may need to convert to a thoracotomy in the case of emergency.

“This is a very unconventional case and will need a very unconventional approach; but I assure you that I will do my utmost to ensure a safe operation.”

“I appreciate it very much.” 

“I’ll need you to sign a consent form; we’ll go over the specifics together.”

A long list of complications and risks: air leak, shortness of breath, arrhythmias, hemorrhage, infection, wound pain, thrombosis, adverse reactions to anesthetics, and so on.

It seemed especially farcical to discuss complications and risks and side effects, as though the alternative to all that wouldn’t be death. 

“I don't see why you even bother,” said Killer. He was more outspoken than he normally was. “It's not like I have a choice either way.”

“It's standard procedure,” said Trafalgar. “And it’s not just for you, Killer-ya - it's more for Eustass. If the operation does go wrong, he will try to have my head. I’m sure you understand that I need some line of defense.”

Killer could see his point. He signed the form.

"So, what would I owe you for all this? I did bring cash," said Killer.

"I do not want payment," said Trafalgar. "I feel that, regardless of my intentions, I have some involvement in your situation. So allow me to make amends for the damages I caused."

"You didn't cause this and I don't like the idea of being indebted to you, Trafalgar," said Killer. "I somehow doubt this will not have repercussions down the line."

"I hold you under no debt, and I don't know what more I can say to convince you," Trafalgar said, with a hint of frustration. He hesitated for a moment, then continued speaking.

“There is something that I do want. I do not want it as payment, but it is a favor that I want personally. I'm sure you will not see the distinction, but there it is.”

Killer couldn't see the distinction. 

“I make it clear to you that you are under no obligation to accept. I would like to propose a kind of role-play, up to and including sex. It would also involve cutting your hair and putting on make-up."

This was just bizarre. Was Trafalgar doing this purposefully to rile him up?

“You’re joking? Sex? You want me to help you cheat on the man I love?”

“I take it that you refuse and that is fine. But I resent your implication that I owe some kind of chastity to Eustass even after we have broken up. He doesn't own me. Truth be told, that would describe you better, wouldn't it?”

Killer threw up his hands in rage. He was beyond caring, at this point. “Fine. Fine! We’ll do whatever you want.”

* * *

Killer had been assigned a single inpatient room in the Polar Tang, and Trafalgar led him to it and shut the door. Trafalgar had been serious about the role-play thing.

"And here I thought you were worried about conflicts of interest," said Killer.

"I'm well aware of my own hypocrisy, Killer-ya," said Trafalgar. "I remind you that I am a pirate and a doctor; an oxymoron in itself. I have already used my abilities before to do harm.

“In a life such as mine, I find it is useless to try and navigate morality by any single code of conduct. If I want something enough, I will ask for it, Hippocratic Oath be damned.”

“Fair enough,” Killer said. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

Trafalgar cut Killer’s hair into a rough bowl cut. He arranged his bangs so that they would cover his forehead.

Trafalgar shaved off Killer’s beard.

He put on red lipstick, stretching way beyond Killer’s actual lips.

He drew a pattern under one of Killer’s eyes with eyeliner.

Trafalgar eyed him critically. “Please take off the shirt.”

Killer did so, taking care to not smudge the make-up.

Trafalgar stared intensely at his handiwork. From this distance Killer could see the wide pupils in Trafalgar’s grey eyes, and understood that Trafalgar had found what he was looking for.

Trafalgar lowered Killer down on the bed and settled himself on top of him. He gazed into Killer’s face for a moment before pressing their lips together.

Killer did not know what role he was meant to play in Trafalgar’s little fantasy, so he took a passive approach, drawing his arms around Trafalgar’s shoulders and letting his lips fall open.

Killer closed his eyes and tried to imagine that it was Kid kissing him so sweetly. But the body on top of him was not as bulky as Kid would be, and neither of the hands caressing his cheek and hair were metal, and he did not smell of rust and the washroom soap. It took Killer out of the immersion. But that was just as well. He emptied his mind and just let himself enjoy the physical sensations.

They kissed for a long while, lips lingering while pausing for breath several times. Trafalgar was obviously hard under his jeans, rocking slowly into Killer’s hips; Killer was beginning to become aroused as well.

Then Trafalgar drew himself up, looking intently into Killer’s face, lips all smeared with red lipstick.

“Say, I love you, Law,” he ordered.

“I love you, Law,” repeated Killer.

Trafalgar’s face suddenly crumpled into a cynical grimace, and he let out a sardonic bark of laughter. He ran his hand over his face, and in its wake there was only a bitter, self-mocking smile on his face.

“Well, it seems the little simulation has run its course,” said Trafalgar. “Thank you for indulging me.”

He wiped his lips on a tissue. “Please rest until the surgery tomorrow; we’ll put this whole mess behind us soon enough.”

* * *

The next morning, Killer changed into a hospital gown and had an IV put in his arm, and was summoned into the operating room.

Trafalgar’s subordinates were assisting, and the one usually wearing the penguin hat was monitoring the anesthetics. 

He looked into Killer’s face and nodded in reassurance.

“We’ll take good care of you,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Killer’s consciousness faded rapidly, the buzz of the anesthetics flooding into his bloodstream.

When he came to, he felt a curious sense of peace and clarity. It might be the drugs in his system, or it might be the surgery.

Trafalgar soon came to his bedside to inform him of the results.

"The operation was a success. All of the plant tissue has been removed, confirmed by my ability, and you have a good lung volume remaining. You feel well, Killer-ya?"

"Quite good, thank you."

"We'll be monitoring you for a few days until your discharge, but I am fairly certain you will make a smooth recovery."

There was a commotion down the hall, and Trafalgar stood up in alarm. The doors to Killer's room burst open and there stood Kid, of all people, face totally livid, followed by a bunch of the Heart Pirates who were trying to restrain him in vain.

He addressed Trafalgar with barely concealed rage. "What the fuck are you doing with Killer?"

Kid held up the den-den that Trafalgar had given him, and addressed Killer. "Why do you have Trafalgar's den-den?"

He’d forgotten Trafalgar’s den-den in his room, he realized. That was how Kid had known to look for him here.

He knew now without a doubt that the surgery had been successful. If Killer still had his feelings for Kid, he would have been mortally wounded that those words were the first thing out of Kid's mouth when he lay here after major surgery.

But he felt only detachment.

The note of accusation in Kid’s voice was understandable; Killer knew what jealousy felt like. But Killer had had his reasons for his actions and he could justify himself if need be. If Kid believed he’d been contacting Trafalgar for some sort of dalliance, then Killer had the incisions and drainage tubes on his chest to prove otherwise.

He lifted up his gown to show Kid just that. Kid flinched at the sight.

"Sorry I didn't tell you before, Kid. The tumor was unresectable in the other hospitals, so Trafalgar was the only one who could cure me. I didn't want to make things awkward."

"Shit, Killer. I'm so sorry. I wish you'd told me," said Kid forlornly.

Trafalgar excused himself from Killer's bedside and let Kid take his place. Before he left, Kid and Trafalgar looked at each other across the room with animosity and distrust.

Killer knew that he had driven the wedge deep between Kid and Trafalgar, probably beyond repair. Or was it Trafalgar who had come between Kid and himself; or was it that neither of those relationships were meant to be in the first place?

He even felt a little detached pity for the two men, still ensnared in their futile attachments.

In this remarkable post-operative clarity, Killer felt that he could finally understand himself and his place in the world.

He would always wish Kid well, and he would always remain loyal to him. Their bond went far deeper than his ill-advised romantic love; now, perhaps, the surgery had cut away the excess and put it back to its proper place.

He was, he found with some surprise, grateful that the Hanahaki had happened to him. The shameful love, cauterized in an instant; Kid's problematic relationship to Trafalgar, cut down in one fell swoop. It was almost too good to be true. And all he'd had to sell for it was a kiss to Trafalgar.

Killer admitted that he still had no idea who he was, without Kid. But now, freed of his attachments, maybe he yet had a chance to become his own man someday.

**Author's Note:**

> Killer’s last name was taken from Andrew Barton, a Scottish privateer. I wonder if his real name will ever be revealed in canon.
> 
> This fic used to have a flashback but it was taken out, and some parts of this fic might not make sense without it. It has been posted as a separate fic, Psycho Killer (warnings: dark content).
> 
> When I saw the manga version of Kamazo I thought his features resembled Corazon a lot. I don't think I was alone in thinking so, as I saw quite a few people in some forums say the same thing. I decided to run with it for the purpose of this fic. It was important that Law conflate the two in his mind; Killer being the Corazon to Kid.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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